Everyone's a winner ...

... when Cate comes home from the Salvo's on Friday!

A gorgeous crocheted rug for in front of the TV (on the rare occasions I allow it to be turned on!).
Kibby's Ugg boots, his motorbike pants, pyjama shirt and text, How to Write and Speak Better.  We've had a few issues with his language. 
Seffy's top and quality literature (they are current issues!).
And, of course, the beanies.

Something unexpected!

A few weeks back I was heading off to the Salvos where I work on Friday.

     “Don’t come home without beanies,” called Tony as I left.  “We need them for camping.”

     Tony and Kibby were heading to Koombooloomba Dam for the weekend and it was going to be cold, very cold.

     As soon as I walked in, I grabbed the only two beanies in the hat section.  One was chocolate brown, the other British racing green except neither one had the richness of their true colours.  They were severely pilled as if they had acute dandruff and they'd stretched so much I wasn't sure they'd stay on.

     Then something happened, something that could have featured in a not-so-sinister episode of Tales of the Unexpected.

     At morning tea time, Patricia Evans walked in with a box of beanies.

Patricia Evans and some of her beautiful beanies.

     “You can have them," she said, "and sell them.”

     Then she left to fetch more boxes and boxes of beanies she was donating to the Salvos.

     “Would you like a cup of tea,” I asked her when she’d lugged the tenth box up the stairs.

     “Oh, yes.” She dropped into a chair, breathless.  "And could I bother you for a glass of water?"

     How unexpected, I thought, eyeing the beanies I was going to buy for Tony and Kibby and everyone I knew who had a birthday in the year (except friends on TI).  But first, Patricia seemed too interesting to be true, to walk in, unannounced with hundreds of beanies on the very day I needed to buy two.  And there was something exotic about her looks.  I had half a cup of coffee to finish and a bit of time to yarn.

     Till she was ten, she grew up in the Amazonian jungle where her father worked with the UN.

     “You don’t call it jungle, anymore,” she said, “it’s rainforest now, apparently.”

     I asked if she had South American ancestors for her exotic looks.

     “Oh, no.  I’m a hundred percent Australian.”

     When she was ten her father moved the family back to Darwin so the kids could get an education.  Patricia now lives in Mossman and knits beanies in her spare time.

     “It’s a dying art,” I said, “knitting.  Young women just don’t learn those good old skills women handed down.”

     “Oh, I never knew how to knit anything,” she said.  “My daughter-in-law taught me.  And beanies are the only thing I can knit.”

     More of the unexpected! 

The real costs of owning a dog (and duck)

Anyone thinking about buying a pet needs to consider the financial responsibility involved.  It's not hard.  Any idiot can Google the cost of owning a dog or cat (there's nothing about the long-term costs of owning a duck).  I did and was shocked by the result.  However, I've learned there are other costs and financial ones are the least of one’s worries.

     I wasn't worried when I forked out $300 to save Gina's life after she ingested cane toad venom.  The stress of concealing the expense from Tony was much worse.

     I was happy to pay $400 to buy Seffy’s puppy, Pippa Jane.  It was a small price to pay for a life time of happiness, companionship and responsibility for my daughter.  Things changed when this happened ... Pippa ate Rat Sac. 

The vet had never seen a dog vomit so much rat poison.

     Pippa’s life was saved by several hundred dollars, but I was faced with the reality of dealing with a daughter’s grief should anything 'permanent' happen to Pippa.  It made me realise I may one day be faced with the angst of having to decide between expensive and painful surgery (sometimes with a mediocre prognosis) or euthanising an animal.  The cost of the surgery is quantifiable; the pain and suffering for an animal who can’t understand, is not. 

     Pippa can't understand her desire to chew so many things, mostly footwear and backpack straps and plastic containers.  Oh, and the legs and arms of wooden furniture like my antique Burmese Teak lounge suite and the PNG Mahogany wood table (from a large trunk that washed ashore at Port Lihou in 1998).

     Providing Pippa paces her appetite, the cost is bearable.  I can easily conceal the damage of backpack-sized items by tossing the chewed item into someone else’s wheelie bin so Tony doesn’t notice.  It’s the constant deception that I find difficult.  Is it just and reasonable for a wife to lie to her husband to keep the peace?

    This happened next.

Pippa has a taste for good literature. She also nibbled on Alex Miller's Journey to the Stone Country.

     I was furious about the destruction of another good book, but wait, there was more.  I had to pay $30 to the Tableland Regional Council library for the damage and to restore my suspended borrowing rights.  The worst was suffering the humiliation of explaining, at the head of a long queue, the kids and I didn't eat the book and a naughty puppy was responsible.  I now have a black mark against my name.

     I can live with the financial burden of owning a dog, the inconvenience of wearing mismatched thongs, never finding a lid for a plastic container, suffering the stigma of failing to discipline my dog and having to sit on plastic chairs since the lounge suite is in the garage waiting for repairs which I am saving for.  But things have got worse.  The other night Tony asked me if I had seen his “other black thong.”

     “No,” I said quite honestly.  I didn’t mention I’d seen pieces of his black thong which I’d quickly swept up and deposited into a plastic bag at the bottom of the kitchen bin.

     This was quite literally the thong that broke the camel’s back.  Pippa is not allowed to set foot inside even though the thong vanished from the back deck (Duh!  Don't leave your thongs on the floor!). Tony now refers to Pippa as “the bloody dog” and he’s on at Seffy continually to keep the back deck tidy and “the bloody dog” outside, all with the diplomacy of a fascist leader.

     Now Seffy and I have to reprimand Pippa each time she comes inside and draconian discipline is not our style.   If Pippa comes inside when Tony’s not around, I have to reprimand Seffy and remind her “Dad really wants Pippa outside.”

     Worse, I have to broker peace between father and daughter when I have no conflict resolution training.  I’ve listened to Seffy refer to her father as “a bloody idiot” because he treats Pippa like a dog.

     This happened at the same time Tony said I had to stop buying frozen peas for my ducks.  Now I am harbouring murderous intentions.

     How come that Google search I did on the cost of owning a pet never mentioned the real costs?

Read it!

As requested, Green Bazzaar!

BTW:  Author Purpose is one of 12 comprehension strategies we use to help kids understand what they are reading.  The DEEP acronym reminds the kids of the four reasons authors write.  
After reading it, there were a list of questions (based on the lyrics) that targeted spelling, grammar and other comprehension strategies.  No textbook or downloaded sheet work for my students!
I had so much fun writing (and singing) this one.

Read it - A song about Author Purpose – Think D.E.E.P. 

(to the tune of Michael Jackson's Beat it)

You’re always textin’ on your mobile phone
You’re like a dog who’s found himself a tasty bone
Well, here’s a book to read.  I don’t wanna hear you moan.
So read it.  Just read it.

You reckon there’s nothing that you like to read
Think DEEP, there’ll be something, it’s surely guaranteed
Don’t bother trying to argue cos there’s no way I’ll concede
Just read it.  Don’t care you haven’t peed.

Just read it, read it, read it, read it
Open the book and be seated.
Read about fossils, read about snow
I don’t care if you read fast or read slow
Just read.  Just read it.  Just Read it.  Just read it.  Just read it

Describing texts tell about a person, place or thing
Biographies, earth worms, The History of Beijing
Reading makes you dream like Martin Luther King
So read it.  Just read it.

Entertaining texts are enjoyable to read
They make you laugh, they make you cry
You get through them at speed
Turn the page, right now.  I’ll get on my knees and plead.
So read it.  Don’t care you need a feed.

Just read it, read it, read it, read it
Don’t you make me repeat it.
Read about Narnia, read for an hour
Don’t care if you read in the loo or the shower.

Just read it.  Read it. Read it.  Read it.
Don’t care you’re vitamin depleted
Read about bananas, they grow in a bunch
Read about growing them, eat them for lunch.
Just read it.  Read it.  Read it.  Read it.  Read it.

Explaining texts tell how to do like fixing antique doors
Cooking perfect soufflés, treating puss-filled sores
Maybe you can learn how polish wooden floors
So read it.  Just read it.

Persuading texts convince you how to think or act

Sponsor a child, use less fuel, carefully read a contract
Recycle so the earth isn’t harmed by your impact
So read it.  I don’t care if I’ve cracked.

Just read it, read it, read it, read it
Don’t you stop ‘til it’s completed
Read about zits, read about bread
You can read on your feet or stand on your head
Just read.  Read it.  Read it. Read it.
Don’t wanna hear you’re mistreated.
Read about sewerage.  Don’t be a sook.
I’ll make sure you read, by hook or by crook.
So read it.  Read it. Read it.  Read it.  Read it. Read it.  Read it.  (Guitar instrumental)